


Handsome and Pretty

by chilly_flame



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: AU, F/F, Holidays, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the old west, and Miss Miranda’s got her eye on someone special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I almost forgot to thank my fabulous beta Xander, who came through once more. She steered me on the right course, even if it took me a while to figure that out. :D This story was written for Secret Santa 2009, for the divine thelastgoodname.

 

Miranda turns her head, and at once, he’s there, as if conjured up by her own imaginings.

 

His eyes are dark, but he wears a hat so she rarely gets to see them up close. His skin might be anywhere from ivory to olive, but she can’t really tell because he is always covered in a film of dust and mud. It’s a peril of the job of a miner who spends most of his day blasting water at the side of a hill, searching for gold. Miranda wonders how much he is paid a week, and if that’s the reason he doesn’t purchase any of her “wares” beyond a seat at the poker tables. The girls tend to flutter around him, trying to draw his eye, but rarely does he spare them a second look. Not even when Emily dropped into his lap unexpectedly did he pay any attention; he simply stood up and dumped her on the ground, though he did help her up after the fact. Emily’s eyes were wide, Miranda remembered, and she overheard her whisper to Missy, “I felt it. It’s huge!”

 

Heat gathers at the back of her neck at the thought of what might be between his legs. She has her pick of the men in town, but most of the ones who come around to her establishment aren’t the kind of men she wants to sleep with. They’re crass, and angry, and oftentimes drunk, but their money is good. As long as they treat her girls right, she doesn’t care.

 

But this one… He interests her. He is different. He’s gentle, and very young, or so she assumes. He always says please and thank you, and he tips Roy at the bar with every drink. His voice is soft, and while his face is dusty, his hands are reasonably clean and his nails are trimmed. The others don’t bother with such minute details.

 

His name is Andy, and he tips his hat to Miranda when he comes in and when he leaves. She must have been busy tonight though, because he’s already at a table, cards in hand. The crowd is good, probably because the stove is burning bright and hot. It’s freezing here this time of year, and not everyone has wood or coal much less a stove to burn it in. Christmas is fast approaching, with a couple of months to go before the hot weather returns. Miranda doesn’t mind the cold though; it’s only the heat that really gets to her. When the ice-shipments came around the coast, Miranda made sure to stock up the ice house. She has piles of it now, but it will disappear soon enough. She reminds herself to tell Roy to reinforce the locks. It will be a valuable commodity come July.

 

But that is months away. Today the pine tree Evie begged to put up in the corner sparkles with glass ornaments and tinsel. Miranda refuses to allow candles on the branches; she won’t see her livelihood go up in flames no matter how many of the girls complain.

 

She glances over at Andy, and he’s watching her. Quickly his eyes return to his cards, and Miranda feels that same flush of warmth once more. From her perch at the bar, she turns toward Roy and nods.

 

“Yes, Miss Miranda?” he asks.

 

She tilts her head in Andy’s direction. “Send a whiskey to the gentleman over there, the one with the dark brown hat and the green shirt.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

He sends Colleen over with the drink, and although Miranda didn’t intend it, it gives the flirtatious woman an opportunity to make conversation. Miranda scowls, but her unhappiness fades when Andy tips his hat and keeps his attention on his cards. When Colleen hovers over his shoulder, he sits forward and covers his cards. He says a few more words, and she stands up and flounces back to the bar. “He’s a doll but talk about stand-offish!” Colleen crows to Evie. “I thought he’d at least consider a few minutes upstairs but he said no first thing. Hmph. His loss.”

 

Miranda smiles faintly, and turns toward him. He is watching her again, and holds up his glass in a silent toast. Miranda tilts her head in acknowledgment.

 

She orders a drink for herself, and enjoys it more than usual.

 

\---

 

The next night, Andy doesn’t come to play cards. Miranda is disappointed. It’s a strange sensation, since she hasn’t spent much time with the man. But something about him draws her in. She yearns to know more. She is fascinated.

 

She believed herself too old to feel this way again, since she is well-past marrying age. Although she runs a brothel, and the women in town don’t look upon her kindly, she attracts interest wherever she goes. Men follow her around and fawn, but typically she pays little mind. Unless someone crosses her, that is. Then she pays very, very close attention. She never forgets, either. She can hold a grudge indefinitely, and considers this a worthwhile character trait.

 

She waits another hour for Andy before retiring to her bedroom. The sounds of music and laughter grate on her as she stokes the stove in her room. After she slides under the sheets, she caresses her breast, and wonders what it would feel like to have Andy’s lips on it instead.

 

\---

 

Another day passes before Andy comes back. He is moving slowly, and Miranda wonders if he was injured at the mine. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she carries a glass of whiskey across the crowded room to where he stands at the roulette wheel. She waits until the ball comes to rest in the wheel to break his concentration. Nigel pushes a pile of chips across the table toward him, and Andy tips his hat and flips him one in return.

 

When he turns, Miranda is there, and he dips his head down shyly. “Hello, Miss Miranda.”

 

Miranda hands him the glass. “Hello, Andy. And I’ve told you before, drop the Miss. Call me Miranda.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Andy says, hat blocking the view of his handsome face.

 

“You playing poker tonight?”

 

Andy shrugs. “Thought I might try a hand or two.”

 

“Mm. Come over and buy me a drink later?” Miranda is surprised to say the words. She hadn’t expected to ask him to spend time with her.

 

“Um,” Andy says, pulling his hat low on his head, “Well, okay then. Thank you, ma’am.”

 

Miranda is even more surprised now. His body language seemed to say that he wants to be left alone. She’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

 

\---

 

Andy does as promised, playing more than a few hands, and apparently doing well for himself. He pockets a reasonable pile of bills and ambles stiffly over to the bar. “Evening, ma’am,” he says, and slides onto a stool next to her. The oil lamps cast a soft light on his face, and Miranda is suddenly struck by how young he seems beneath all that dust.

 

“Hello Andy. Have a good night?” Miranda sips at her watered-down whiskey.

 

“I did. Luck was on my side.”

 

“What do you do with all your winnings?”

 

Andy shrugs. “Save ‘em. Got nothing to spend them on, really, other than whiskey, and books.” His face goes a little red.

 

Miranda wants to smile. “No women? You’re certainly missing out. You could take your pick of them here. And all over town, I think.”

 

Looking down at the bar, Andy’s blush spreads. “No thank you.”  


“Not interested in women then?” Miranda asks curiously.

 

“No, I am,” Andy says quickly. “Or uh, just one.” His eyes peek up under his hat at Miranda before darting away.

 

Instantly Miranda is aroused. She’s bemused by Andy’s expression, which even after the subtle pass, is skittish and anxious. “Really. Well, that’s very nice to hear. Do I know her?” she quips.

 

Andy’s hopeful hesitance disappears, replaced by a blank look. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I’m barking up the wrong tree--“

 

He’s off the stool in an instant and although she’s taken aback, Miranda reaches out to grab his arm. “Don’t go, Andy. Sit down, please. I won’t tease.” She is flustered to have to defend herself. What is it about him that makes her do this? “I was trying to be sure I understood your meaning,” she says softly. She is far more used to aggressive behavior from men who are powerful and confident. Andy is nothing like them. Why she is attracted to him is beyond her comprehension.

 

Carefully, Andy meets her eyes. “I meant you, ma’am. So if you’d rather me go—“

 

“I wouldn’t,” Miranda says quickly. “Sit down.” Her tone is firm, and he instantly slides back onto his stool. She glances up at Roy, who strides over. “Freshen up Andy’s whiskey, Roy.” They both watch Roy as he pours out the drink and sets it on the bar. It allows Miranda a few moments to regain her equilibrium. “Now that we have that settled, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” Miranda asks.

 

Slowly Andy sips from the tumbler, tasting the liquor and inhaling after he swallows. “Not much to tell. I came west a few years back, and I’ve been working the mines ever since. I do all right for myself. I stay at Ma Bailey’s boarding house down the end of the Main street, since I can’t afford a house yet. But I’m getting close,” he says with a little enthusiasm. “Like I said, I save a lot, and know when to quit at the tables.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” Miranda replies. Unlike the men who walk in the door with a week’s earnings and proceed to spend some on cards and the rest on women and drink. “Where do you come from?”

 

Andy’s face closes off, and he looks away. “No place. Nowhere at all.” A few seconds tick by before Andy refocuses on Miranda. “I don’t like to talk about it much. My folks—my pa, really, he wasn’t a nice man. I won’t ever go back. Far as I’m concerned, I’m an orphan.”

 

“Of course,” Miranda says, and wonders just what this father of his got up to. She doesn’t ask. “Are you happier here?”

 

There is the first spark of a smile on Andy’s face at the question, and Miranda almost loses her breath at how his face changes. “Much. Mining’s hard work, but I get paid, and I take care of myself. Nobody can make me do anything. That’s the way I want to live.”

 

Miranda nods, slow and steady. “It’s the way I want to live too,” Miranda says, and when Andy meets her eyes, there is a moment of understanding between them. Miranda finds it unusual that a man feels the same as she does, but she shouldn’t. Men and women aren’t always so different. “You’re moving a little more slowly than usual today. Are you hurt?”

 

Andy laughs softly, and cringes with the motion. “Like I said, it’s hard work. I’m just a little sore. I’m not as strong as some of the other men.”

 

She nods. He’s tall, but slim even in layers of clothing. Without thinking Miranda reaches out to rub his shoulder, and Andy flinches. She stops, and pulls her hand away. “My apologies,” she says uncertainly.

 

“Sorry,” Andy replies, and shrinks down into himself.

 

“It’s all right,” Miranda says quietly.

 

“I’m kind of—“

 

“You don’t have to explain.”

 

Andy looks at her warmly then, with something like hope instead of fear. Again, Miranda is curious about why he is so twitchy, and thinks that perhaps it’s better that she doesn’t know.

 

“I’m not used to folks touching me. You can warn me ahead of time, and I’ll tell you if it’s okay,” Andy says, almost leaning in Miranda’s direction.

 

Miranda blinks. “I was going to touch your shoulder. Rub it a little,” she says. Just the idea of putting her hand on him is enough to send a chill down her spine.

 

Tentatively he nods, but adds, “I’ll leave my hat on though. If you don’t mind.”

 

“Fine,” she says, and reaches out. Gently she kneads, with only one hand, ignoring the looks some of the girls at the bar give her. Miranda is willing to go as slowly as he needs. She is more attracted than ever now; his soft voice and quiet sadness make her want to give him great pleasure. Miranda does not consider herself a giving person, or particularly caring, but this pretty boy brings these things out in her. She is powerless against him. Perhaps she will be burned, but she is certain the fire will be worth it.

 

When she hits a particular spot on his shoulder, he groans quietly and hunches down over the bar. Miranda’s cheeks are surely scarlet; she wants to push him down onto the floor and pounce. Instead she rubs more deeply, enjoying the way his wiry muscle begins to soften under her deft touch. Against her will, she removes her hand and leans in.

 

“I think I can help you, Andy. I have some liniment in my room. Will you come upstairs?”

 

His brown eyes are wide as he stares at her. He wants it, Miranda knows. She recognizes the desire as clearly as she feels it within herself. Has she pushed too hard? Moved too quickly? He opens his mouth, breathing once, twice, and says, “That would be nice.”

 

Miranda shivers. She glances around to find Roy watching her. “I’m done for the night, Roy. Keep an eye on the girls.”

 

“Happy to, Miss Miranda.”

 

With that, she leaves the bar and heads for the stairway that leads to her rooms. She passes a few of the girls, and their chatter ceases immediately. They know who is in charge, and regardless of how much Miranda protects them, there is a very clear line between herself and everyone else.

 

Only Emily waits near the top of the steps, and her eyes are glued to Andy. “You can come on by to see me later if you want, Andy,” Emily tells him brashly. Miranda wonders if she realizes that Miranda would throw Emily out onto the street without a second thought if she makes a move on this boy.

 

“No thank you, Miss Emily. Good night,” Andy says. Miranda does not turn around. She shouldn’t feel smug; Emily has had a difficult life, and spends her nights on her back, sucking off men Miranda wouldn’t look at twice. But she is well compensated for her work and she’s safer here than she ever was back east after immigrating to America. Emily’s the best, and despite her cheek, Miranda looks out for her.

 

That said Miranda enjoys the spike of pride the sound of Andy’s boots behind her provides. “This way,” she says, pulling her keys from the tiny pocket sewn into her dress. The door opens to darkness, and they both step inside.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

\---

 

Miranda lights her lamp quickly with a match from her dresser. The bed looms large, but she doesn’t go near it yet. Instead, she carries her whiskey to a small sitting area near the back window. Outside the snow is not very deep and it still sparkles under a bright moon. Andy follows her, and sits opposite her. He is empty handed, so Miranda fills a tumbler and pushes it across to him. He accepts it, but doesn’t drink.

 

They sit quietly, Miranda staring out the window. The silence is not uncomfortable, as Miranda anticipates whatever might come next. Tension simmers, and Andy clears his throat. “It’s not my habit to spend time alone with women in their rooms, Miranda,” he says.

 

Miranda can’t help but be pleased to hear the “Miss” gone from her name, finally. “Does that bother you?” Miranda asks, wondering why he’s brought it up.

 

He shakes his head. “No. It’s my choice.” He tips his head, and the hat he still wears covers his eyes. “Does it bother you?”

 

“Not in the least,” Miranda replies. She means it. She feels not exactly honored, but pleased. “I was serious about the liniment. I’d like to help.”

 

Andy lifts his head. “I’d rather not take off my things. But I wouldn’t mind, uh, if you rubbed my shoulders.”

 

Tilting her head, Miranda searches Andy’s face. The more he withholds, the more her curiosity intensifies. He won’t remove his shirt? No matter. Miranda will happily do as he asks. “Of course. Come along, then.” She ignores him when his mouth opens, and she strolls to the bed. He is still seated when Miranda situates herself against the pillows. “I won’t bite. This will be more comfortable.”

 

Andy appears flustered, but he stands and makes his way to the bed. Before he sits, he drains his glass of whiskey and drops it on the side table. Carefully he removes his boots and hat, and Miranda holds back a gasp when a thick wave of hair flops across Andy’s forehead. It’s extremely flattering, trimmed close up the back but long on top.

 

“My,” she says. “You should remove your hat more often.”

 

His hand comes up to brush it away from his eyes, and blushes. “Thanks,” he mutters. He glances down at his clothes. “Sorry about the mess.”

 

Miranda doesn’t care right now, but she’ll be sure to have Roy wash the linens tomorrow. Andy is remarkably dusty. “Not a problem. Now, move back here.” Although Miranda would prefer him to lie down, she won’t push her luck. Instead, she kneels and moves close enough to put both hands on his shoulders. She’s very gentle when she does, and this time Andy does not twitch. Carefully Miranda begins to knead, feeling the strength of muscle and sinew. He’s wiry rather than bulky, and she’s surprised at how narrow his body is.

 

After a few minutes, his groan shocks Miranda out of her stupor. She inhales slowly and asks, “Am I hurting you?”

 

“Noo,” Andy murmurs, voice low and rough.

 

Again, Miranda has to take a deep breath. The room feels warmer now, and Miranda’s face burns. Gradually she moves her hands lower on Andy’s spine, frowning when she detects another layer of clothing under her hands.

 

“Oh!” Andy cries, and jerks away. “Sorry, I mean. My ribs. I’ve got a busted one. I have to keep them wrapped.”

 

“It’s all right,” Miranda finds herself repeating for what seems like the tenth time that night. “I won’t touch them. I didn’t realize.”

 

Andy looks over his shoulder, and his expression changes when he sees Miranda’s face. He blinks, mouth open, and suddenly the tension in the room ratchets up another twenty degrees easily. “Miranda,” Andy breathes, “do you—“

 

Miranda inches closer, sensing an opportunity. “Yes,” she answers, regardless of whatever he’s asking. She doesn’t care. She wants to kiss him, right away, right now, and apparently the feeling is mutual because instantly Andy’s hands are on her face, and their lips crash together. Andy groans deep in his throat and Miranda wraps her arms around his waist, careful not to squeeze, mindful of his ribs. She melts, stunned at the feel of his lips, soft and pliant. His skin is incredible, as smooth as if he’d shaved only moments before. When a tongue slides into Miranda’s mouth, she goes weak and leans back on the bed. Andy is quick to follow. He rolls onto her, more aggressively than Miranda would have expected, and she welcomes his power.

 

He pulls away, staring down. “Are you—“

 

“Yes,” Miranda insists, and yanks his mouth down to hers again. She reaches for Andy’s hips, and to her disappointment, he wiggles out of her grasp. But his lips descend to her chest, distracting her, especially when his hands take possession of her breasts. She moans, the weight of him between her legs delicious. She felt his hard cock against her thigh briefly, but then it was gone. She can’t say she’s sorry though, as his mouth works at her through her blouse. He pulls it down, shoving her silk chemise out of the way. Softness envelops her nipple and she wraps her legs around his ass, tangles her hands in his hair. “Andy,” she says, “Oh, yes.”

 

There’s movement below, and cool air hits her legs as she feels her long skirt being pulled up. A shiver shakes her whole body as Andy writhes atop her. He is humming his pleasure, a constant sound that rings in Miranda’s ears. “I want this, oh please, Miranda, let me touch you, let me—“

 

Miranda is nodding, pulling at her stockings and underclothes now, intensely aroused by the desperate expression on Andy’s face. “Do it, do it—“

 

But Andy doesn’t remove his own trousers, his head moving even lower, and Miranda’s eyes widen. He’s going to—is he really? And then she has no time to think, because his hands are between her legs, rubbing at her wetness, and his mouth presses against her. Miranda arches, a strange flurry of sounds coming from her throat as the sensations ricochet inside her. The pleasure is so sharp it burns, and she pushes against him as his tongue laps at her hungrily. Then his fingers press into her long and deep, and the combination drives Miranda out of her mind. She’s crying out louder than she should as Andy thrusts and moans and sucks, until Miranda feels a climax explode through her. It’s wonderful, and although her eyes are closed, she feels the bed shaking beneath them as Andy’s body jerks repeatedly. His face is buried against her until he stills in a silent orgasm.

 

For a moment, Miranda wishes she could have drawn the climax from him herself, but the feeling passes. She is too blissful, too well-sated by a young man who seemed to revel in pleasuring her. It was a most unusual experience; nothing like the quick rutting of her last coupling. She regretted that immediately back then; she does not regret this.

 

“Mm,” she hums, loosening her fingers from Andy’s luxurious hair.

 

He looks up at her, his smile radiant as his head rests against the bare skin of her thigh. All of his uncertainty is gone now; he appears as calm as Miranda feels. “Thank you, Miranda.”

 

She laughs in delight. “I should be thanking you. I didn’t expect you to—“

 

“I didn’t want to take any risks. With you getting, um—“

 

Miranda stares down at him. “That was considerate of you.” She doubts very much she is at risk of having a child, but nevertheless, she finds it sweet. “It was lovely.” Not to mention the most remarkable first experience she’d ever had with anyone. Including her husband, rest his soul.

 

“For me too. Do you mind if I… clean up?”

 

“Of course not. There’s a basin over there.” Miranda points, and watches as Andy eases over to the table. There is the splash of water, but Miranda doesn’t pay attention, instead preferring to drift in repose. Moments later, the bed dips.

 

“May I?” Andy holds a damp cloth up. Miranda nods. She supposes it’s no more surprising than anything else that’s happened between them. He’s quick and gentle with her, and she quakes at the chill of the water. Soon, when he returns to the bed, his hair flops over his forehead charmingly, and he smiles. “You’ve made me so happy, Miranda.” He looks down at their joined hands. “Can I—may I see you again?”

 

“You’re leaving?” She’d hoped he’d stay the night. She wants to know if the rest of him is as soft as his cheeks, and his mouth. She wants to know what it would be like to make love to him all night long.

 

He shrugs. “I have to be at the mine at dawn, and I don’t want to wake you.” He kisses her hand. “Another time, maybe.”

 

“I look forward to it.” Miranda draws their joined hands toward her, and he drops his face down to hers. Their lips meet in a deep kiss, musky and dark. She wants it to last, but he pulls away with what looks like regret.

 

“Sleep well,” Andy says.

 

“You too.” Miranda has a wicked thought, and she smiles. “How are your shoulders?”

 

His eyes pop open wide, and he laughs musically. “They’re good. Much better.”

 

Miranda feels sly. “I do excellent work.”

 

“That you do.” He busses her cheek. “Good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

Moments later, he slips out. The room has lost its light, and Miranda is shocked at how much she feels it.

 

She wants more of Andy. Soon.

 

\---

 

Andy doesn’t visit the saloon the next two nights, and Miranda spends more time worrying than she sees fit. She is convinced he would have come if he’d been able, but she has no way of knowing. Instead she takes out her irritation on some of her customers, and she sits at the poker tables for the first time in months. She is ruthless, stripping four men of their earnings within fifteen minutes. This isn’t her habit; she needs their business, but she is angry and this is the least harmful way of showing it.

 

Nigel gives her the eye when she lays three aces down on the table. “Nice hand, Miss Miranda,” he says, and she reads the disapproval in his voice. She ignores him, sitting through two more hands before realizing he has her best interests at heart. His own are included in hers, because if she is successful, so is he. Deliberately she puts the majority of her chips in on a weak hand, and loses them. She is disappointed, but it’s the right thing to do. Men don’t like to lose to women. It’s an unfortunate fact, but she can’t change human nature.

 

She wonders if Andy would mind losing to her. She doubts it.

 

Loneliness sets in after a while and she retires to her room. Christmas Eve is two days away. She has no presents to give, and expects none in return.

 

\---

 

The next morning, as Miranda finishes breakfast, there is a pounding on the front doors. It is a frantic sound, accompanied by the yells of someone in trouble. Roy carries his shotgun to the door with Nigel close at his heels. When they open up, two men stumble in, one of whom is being dragged by the other. Miranda’s heart stops when a hat falls to the floor and a head of wavy chestnut hair is revealed.

 

The other man is short of breath as he holds Andy up. “He begged me to bring him here instead of the doc, Miss Miranda. He’s had a fever since yesterday but he worked anyway. He passed out and the foreman sent him home. I gotta go back. I need the money—I got two kids to feed along with the missus. Can you take him in?”

 

Despite her fear, Miranda forces herself to act. “Roy, bring him to my room,” she directs, shocked at the frigid temperatures blowing in from outside. The fact that Andy tried to work in this weather shows he must have been delirious, regardless of his health. “Thank you. I’ll handle it.”

 

The man tips his hat. “Thanks Miss Miranda. You take good care of ‘im. He’s a prince.” He vanishes, and Nigel shoves the door closed.

 

“Get me extra sheets, and I might need some ice if he has a fever,” Miranda commands. Nigel races off, and Miranda goes straight to the kitchen for water. She doesn’t know if Andy is well enough to eat or drink, but with her free hand she grabs a bottle of denatured alcohol off the shelf and brings it upstairs. Roy has dropped Andy on the bed, and he’s curled into a ball. “Help me get him out of his things—“

 

“No!” Andy shouts, not as insensate as Miranda thinks. “No,” he moans. “Just let me sleep. I’m fine.”

 

But his eyes are fever bright, and somehow Miranda has to bring his temperature down. “Get his shirt,” she grunts, and Roy starts to pull at the thin jacket Andy wears.

 

“Get off,” Andy says, wrenching away from both of them. “I said no.” His breathing is fast, and the snow from his boots is melting on Miranda’s clean coverlet.

 

“Andy,” she pleads, “we just want to help you. Let us help. I want to get your fever down.”

 

“I don’t have a fever,” he groans, and follows it up with a round of coughing that makes Miranda fear for her health as well as Roy’s.

 

“Go,” she tells Roy. “I’ll deal with it. We’ll need wood, some hot broth and a bottle of brandy.” Roy leaves and Miranda stares down at the pathetic lump on the bed. “You’re getting my quilt filthy. Again,” she murmurs, hoping he’ll sit up and pull his boots off. But he doesn’t. He simply lies there on his belly, and Miranda gets just a little bit afraid. It occurs to her that she barely knows this man, but that if anything terrible happens to him, her heart might break.

 

She sits down next to the bed and starts with the boots. She tosses them in the corner near the hearth, and follows with the coat that’s soaked through from snow. When she starts pulling at his buttoned shirt, he knocks her hands away. “Don’t,” he whines. “Just leave me be.”

 

“Quiet,” Miranda says firmly, and tries again.

 

This time he is more violent, grabbing her wrist, but his grip is weak, and he’s losing energy fast. He rears up and stares at her, eyes shining with fear. “Don’t touch me,” he begs, and his voice is changed—younger, and high pitched. “Lemme alone.”

 

She watches Andy as he pulls his knees up to his chin, face contorted in pain. He is far more ill than she thought. Nigel arrives with fresh sheets, and Roy’s right behind him with the other supplies. “Leave them there,” she points across the room to Roy, who dumps the wood near the stove and the brandy by the bed.

 

Roy says, “Missy’s got some soup on. She’ll bring it up when it’s ready.”

 

“Tell her to take her time. This could be a while. You go on, Nigel will help me here.” She trusts Nigel implicitly, and if Andy goes berserk, Miranda doesn’t want many witnesses.

 

When they are alone, Miranda tries again. Andy seems to be asleep, and he doesn’t react until Miranda starts to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t,” he says pitifully. Tears streak down his cheeks, and Miranda catches Nigel’s eye. He looks as confused as she is.

 

 “Darling, it’s Miranda. I just need to take your things off so you can cool down. Please don’t fight me. I promise not to hurt you.”

 

Andy’s eyes open and he looks terrified. “You will,” he whispers. “Please don’t kill me.”

 

She’s shocked at the words. He seems lucid, but kill him? “I won’t. Just let go.”

 

Finally, he gives in, and his arms fall to his sides. With his eyes closed, he looks sicker than ever. Quickly Miranda unbuttons the shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders, only to find another shirt to remove, as well as a long sleeved undershirt. When she pulls that off, she’s puzzled to discover that his whole torso from the shoulders down is bound by fabric. Nigel doesn’t say anything, but he drags Andy up and starts to pull at the cloth, unwrapping him.

 

With each passing moment, Miranda grows more confused, until she suddenly realizes the answer to a dozen questions simultaneously. As layer after layer of cotton comes off, she recognizes the form of someone who is very clearly not a man.

 

Not a man at all.

 

Andy the man is gone, replaced by Andy the woman, a woman who pleased Miranda so thoroughly only two days prior, whose hourglass shape was well-concealed by the inches of cotton around his waist. Her waist, Miranda reminds herself. Her breasts are generous, pink-tipped and lovely despite the angry red welts left by the bindings. Her skin is pale, and soft, and most surprising of all, Miranda longs to soothe it even as she wonders at its very existence.

 

“You didn’t know,” Nigel says, looking only at Miranda.

 

“I didn’t,” Miranda says, ill-prepared to deal with this revelation.

 

“But I thought you two—“

 

Miranda snorts. “Obviously we didn’t quite get to this stage.”

 

Nigel blinks, and shrugs his shoulders. “Oh well, doesn’t matter. I certainly won’t tell.” He starts to work at Andy’s trousers.

 

“Wait a second,” Miranda says. “Maybe you should leave.”

 

Nigel rolls his eyes. “Come on, Miranda. You need help, and this girl is sick. Very sick if I’m right. Don’t be foolish.” He wrenches down the damp trousers, leaving Andy in long underwear.

 

Miranda’s eyes grow even wider. Apparently Andy is either a hermaphrodite, or she carries around something “extra” in her pants.

 

“My,” Nigel says, hand to his chest. “What do you think it is?”

 

This time, Miranda doesn’t let Nigel find out. She reaches down and grabs at Andy’s cock, feeling as though she’s violating her. That doesn’t stop Miranda though, who wiggles the thing around enough until its wide base slips from its straps. It’s lacquered wood, shaped rather like a long and slender penis. But Miranda doubts that the shapes carved into this one would ever appear on the real thing.

 

“I suppose that would do the trick,” Nigel mutters, and Miranda realizes she’s been staring at it far longer than she ought to considering the circumstances. She shoves it in the drawer at her bedside in case they get company.

 

She clears her throat. “Get me the alcohol, it’s on the dresser.” Andy is shivering, and they have to bring her fever down. Staring down at the svelte, muscled body of this woman, Miranda doesn’t know what to think. She’d obviously had reasons to hide her sex, but why lure Miranda into a physical relationship unless there was some ulterior motive? For now, Miranda will ignore her misgivings and concerns and instead focus on helping. Because despite what she’s learned, she doesn’t want Andy harmed. She still cares, even if that care is tempered with suspicion.

 

So, she and Nigel dampen cloths with the alcohol and wipe Andy’s body down with it. Andy opens her eyes a few times, shame clouding her expression. “It’s all right,” Miranda tells her, brushing her wavy hair back from her forehead. “You’re going to be all right.”

 

Andy weeps again, and coughs, and Nigel holds her head when she has to blow her nose. Miranda isn’t sure if this is working, but they give her brandy to quiet her cough. It helps, and finally, she sleeps. They cover her with a thin sheet, and Miranda feeds some fresh wood into the stove to keep the room warm. Sweat streams down her back from the heat and exertion.

 

Nigel gazes thoughtfully into Andy’s feverish face. “I should have known,” he says. “She was so handsome even under all that dirt. It was a good disguise. I never thought about her twice.”

 

Miranda ignores him. Instead she sits down in a chair by the window and covers herself with one of the blankets from the bed. She has a good deal of thinking to do, and now’s as good a time as any.

 

\---  
  



	3. Chapter 3

 

\---

 

Hours pass, and Miranda dutifully waits near the bed. Andy tosses and turns, but she doesn’t wake. Sometime in the afternoon, Miranda wiped her down with alcohol again, and winced at the heat coming off her body. She is still caught in the fever, and Miranda’s worry is growing. She doesn’t know what else to do, and Nigel assures her that they just have to wait and see.

 

But sitting still is doing none of them any good. She needs to act.

 

She launches herself from her seat and out of the room, closing and locking the door behind her. “Nigel,” she barks as she descends the stairs, “I need enough buckets of snow to fill my bathtub, and some ice from the shed. Right away.”

 

His eyebrows rise. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. I don’t want anyone else to come in other than you, is that clear? Andy is contagious and the last thing we need is an epidemic of influenza going around.”

 

A murmur of fear travels around the room, and Miranda is now certain that no one else will try to visit Andy. Miranda isn’t sure if it’s influenza or just a terrible cold, but she might as well scare everyone into staying away.

 

Half an hour later, Andy is submerged under a few inches of freezing water in the tub Miranda keeps behind a curtain in her room. She shivers as Nigel scoops water over her shoulders and chest. Miranda is unbelievably cold as she does the same, convinced this will work. Andy keens miserably, half-awake and very unhappy. “Miranda,” she whimpers. “Miranda.”

 

“You’ll be all right,” Miranda says again, almost as if to convince herself. Andy’s skin is an angry red, and Miranda reminds herself not to look too closely at the curves. Nigel appears completely unaffected, and not for the first time, Miranda wonders if he doesn’t like women in a sexual way. It’s certainly possible, if not probable. What that means, Miranda doesn’t know. She deliberately doesn’t think about what it might mean for her that she remains attracted to Andy’s female form.

 

“No more, Miranda, please,” Andy pleads. Her eyes seem clearer, and although Miranda isn’t sure of the right thing, she agrees. She and Nigel haul her out of the tub and dry her off quickly. Miranda helps her relieve herself while Nigel busies himself across the room; apparently he has his limits. They clothe her in a warm cotton shift and a fresh pair of Nigel’s long underwear. Once settled back in bed on clean sheets, Andy’s eyes fasten on Miranda. She gazes longingly at her, and Miranda feels so much desire to help this woman that she can’t help herself. She brushes damp hair away from her forehead, kissing it gently. An arm comes up around her neck, drawing her close. “I’m so cold,” Andy whispers. Glancing up at Nigel, she freezes. She wants to hold Andy, to comfort her, but what will he think?

 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Nigel finally says. He reaches out, and Miranda holds his hand for a moment. His smile is genuine.

 

“You’re a true friend, Nigel,” Miranda says, her voice breaking slightly.

 

“I know. I’m glad you finally realized it.”

 

A moment later, she is alone with Andy, who has tears in her eyes. “Rest,” Miranda says softly, maneuvering herself onto the bed. Andy cuddles in close, kissing Miranda’s collarbone tenderly. At once she seems to deflate, falling asleep instantly. Quiet snores meet Miranda’s ears as the white glow from the windows fades to grey, and eventually black. Soon after, Miranda drops off as well.

 

\---

 

When Miranda wakes, she notices a candle’s been lit near the bedside. Andy is watching her, dark circles under her eyes appearing almost black in the shadows. Immediately Miranda reaches out to touch her forehead; it’s cool for the first time all day. The fever has broken. Miranda sighs in relief.

 

“I feel better,” Andy says. Everything in her face speaks of affection and care.

 

The sight makes Miranda’s heart thump faster. It’s confusing, and Miranda turns on her back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

A hand reaches out to rest on her shoulder, and that sends Miranda from the bed. She crosses the room to the window, pressing her fingers to the glass. The room is cold now that she’s left the haven of body heat and goose feathers, but the temperature serves to make her more alert. She glances at her pocket watch. It’s nearly midnight, and she can hear the raucous voices calling out one floor below. Although faint, it’s enough to remind Miranda that they are not alone in the world, as much as she’d like that to be the case.

 

“Why?” she asks, her voice flat and sharp.

 

There’s a rustle of sheets, but Miranda doesn’t turn to look at Andy. “Why what?”

 

Miranda has a thousand questions, but she starts simply. “Why me? Why a woman? What exactly did you think you were _doing_?”

 

Andy sighs. At least a minute passes before she speaks again. “Can I have some water? This might take a while.”

 

Miranda acquiesces, but returns to her chair by the window. She doesn’t want to get lured in again.

 

After draining half her water, Andy shakes her head. “I don’t know why it’s you, Miranda. But I’m not sorry.”

 

Miranda smirks. She’s not sorry either, but she won’t say so.

 

“I ran away more than five years ago,” Andy begins. Miranda shifts her chair slightly so she can watch Andy’s faint reflection in the window. “I left home because of, um, family things. Problems.”

 

“Oh?” Miranda says lightly. She is curious.

 

“My father was not a nice man,” Andy says after a long pause. “I wasn’t a target when I was little, but I got to be one later.”

 

“A target,” Miranda prods. “You mean he beat you?”

 

Andy snickers bitterly. “To put it mildly.”

 

“Ah.” How anyone could harm Andy, or any child, is beyond Miranda’s comprehension.

 

“My mama was dead, had been since I was little, and he got meaner the older I got. I look like her, see. Made him crazy sometimes.” Andy shivers. “I knew I’d I have to get away, or die trying. I read about the gold rush, and the people coming west in droves. I made a plan, and stole some clothes and all the money I could get my hands on. Everything from his safe, and some from his accounts too.” She laughed. “He’d kill me if he ever saw me again, I have no doubt.”

 

Miranda relents and pours a second glass of brandy. She carries it to Andy, and sits by the bed in the chair Nigel vacated hours ago. “And you started dressing as a boy then?”

 

Andy nods as she sips. “I hacked off my hair and took the train as far west as I could get, and hitched a ride with a wagon train the rest of the way.” She gets lost in thought for a moment, staring into the dark liquid. “I almost died then too. Dysentery,” she explains, and the one word says it all. Miranda is impressed that she survived. “When I came out of that okay, I knew I could live through anything. Anything,” she repeats, her eyes intense. “I was sure he’d never find me if I was a boy. So I got work as a miner, and two years ago one of the big companies took me on. It’s steady pay. Nobody bothers me, and I have a few friends. Like Jake. I think he’s the one who brought me here today.”

 

“Mm,” Miranda says. “I wondered.”

 

“He’s a family man. I looked after his wife when she had her first-born, when the doc couldn’t get there in time.”

 

That surprises Miranda. “You helped a woman give birth?”

 

Andy smiles. “Yep. I know some things. She was in a bad way, but it all worked out. Little Andy’s almost two now, and a holy terror.”

 

Miranda rolls her eyes. “Of course.” Something occurs to Miranda, and she gathers the courage to ask. “Is that even your name?”

 

Andy shrugs. “Sort of. It’s Andrea, but I always liked Andy when I heard it as a kid. Sachsen is my last name, and I shortened it to Sachs. I didn’t have papers, but people don’t ask for them out here. California’s probably filled with folks like me, looking to escape.” She settles back on the pillows. “I just keep my hair short, and I stay wrapped up most of the time. All the time, really. Just in case. I feel naked without everything.”

 

“But you never answered my question,” Miranda prods. “Why me?”

 

Andy’s eyes meet hers, dark and open. For the first time in her life, Miranda feels truly adored. “How could it be anyone else?” Andy murmurs. “I haven’t noticed a single soul since the day we met. It was always you.”

 

Miranda blinks, stunned by the admission. “That was some time ago.”

 

“Yeah. Eleven months and nine days, or ten by now. I came in last January. You were at the bar, in the red dress with the ruffles down the bustle. The one that cuts like this—“ she motions in a wide V across her chest—“and I saw you, and that was it.” She blushes furiously. “I know it’s not normal. I’ve never been normal, but it was only after we met that I realized how different I was from other girls. It just so happened that I was dressed as a man at the time, so nobody noticed when I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Except Jake. He’s been telling me to try and court you since then, but I didn’t exactly think a woman who ran a brothel would be interested in somebody like me, much less want to go courting.”

 

Miranda laughs then. It makes sense in a twisted sort of way.

 

“And then you started talking to me a few months back, and I clammed up.” Andy shivers. “You made me so nervous. It started me thinking, what I might do if, uh, the situation came up when I’d be able to kiss you. Not that I assumed anything, of course,” she assures Miranda. “Then I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. And then the other night, you were so beautiful, and you smelled so good, and I just… couldn’t help it. I had to. I thought, ‘If I never get another chance, I have to try.’ So I did.”

 

With raised eyebrows, Miranda asks, “You mean to tell me that was your first time with a woman?”

 

Andy nods. “First time with anyone,” she clarifies. “It was okay, wasn’t it?”

 

Miranda huffs, partly from embarrassment, partly in astonishment. “It was… very much okay.”

 

That seems to ease Andy’s mind. “I would have come back right away, but I got more nervous. I thought I might be able to try it, with my, um, thing—“ she motions between her legs—“without you knowing, but it was too big a risk. And then I got sick, and now I’m here.” She sighs, and leans back against the pillows. “I guess that’s everything. Mostly.”

 

Once again, Miranda feels exhausted. She has no idea what to think about this woman who’s come into her life and turned it upside down. “You lied to me,” she says, because she has to. She can’t simply accept it all and move on. It’s not in her nature.

 

Andy’s face falls. “I know.”

 

Miranda isn’t ready to say how much she was drawn to Andy, and how much she’s still drawn to her as a woman. A lovely, kind, wounded woman. If Andy were a man, Miranda expects they’d have a typical affair. Spend their nights together enjoying each other’s bodies, like two average people. Maybe they’d fall in love.

 

But Andy isn’t a man, and Miranda does not excel at love. These two facts make things far more complicated.

 

“Go to sleep,” Miranda says. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

She pretends not to see the tear that streaks down Andy’s cheek. “Okay, Miranda.” She snuggles down into the covers. “And anyway, thanks for saving my life. I probably would have died this time without you.”

 

That gives Miranda pause. _Died_ , she thinks. Miranda knows she would not have dealt well with the blow of Andy’s loss. “Well,” she mutters, speechless for once.

 

She blows the candle out, and leaves Andy in darkness.

 

\---

 

That night, Miranda drinks herself into a state the likes of which she hasn’t experienced since the death of her husband. No one notices the level of whiskey in the bottle at her table, nor do they count how many times she refills her glass. It relaxes Miranda to be completely out of her mind for once; she is used to being in control at all times. Control is only an illusion, she reminds herself. Whether it’s who she falls in love with, or how much snow falls, or when she’ll go to meet her maker.

 

The girl upstairs is undoubtedly Miranda’s greatest loss of control in her life.

 

She drinks some more, and sees trails when she turns her head. She laughs, and two men join her at her table. Alarms go off in the back of her mind, but she doesn’t pay attention for once. These men are far more familiar with her than they ought to be, and one of them slides a rough hand along her thigh. Miranda jerks out of his grasp, unhappy when the room starts to spin as she stands. The man just laughs some more and pulls her closer. Panic hovers near, but she can’t react the way she knows she should. When the other man grabs her, there’s a flurry of activity, and Miranda falls back into her chair. She is suddenly alone, and when she can lift her head, she notices Nigel holding a shotgun as Roy and two others haul the men out the door.

 

Out of nowhere, Miranda feels sick to her stomach. She bolts from the room, heading for the back of the saloon where there is a door that leads to an open yard piled high with snow. She vomits not once, but repeatedly, and is too far gone to be ashamed. Now all she wants is to take it back, take everything back, from the day she met Andy to this very minute. She slumps against the building, away from the mess she’s made, and closes her eyes.

 

Some time later, someone nudges her. There’s a light dusting of snow on her clothes, and she’s freezing.

 

“It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” Nigel asks. “You trying to kill yourself or what?”

 

Miranda looks up at him, surprised at how well she can see. A full moon hangs in the sky behind his head, and it makes the snow glitter like diamonds. “No,” she croaks. Her mouth tastes terrible. Though she hasn’t done so since she was a child, Miranda grabs a handful of fresh snow and tastes it. It’s wonderful—cool and familiar and clean.

 

“Christ, you’re a mess, Miranda. Come in and I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

 

Nigel pulls her to her feet, shaking his head. She knows she should thank him, but the words won’t come. She only feels pathetic, and if she says one single word to him, she might fall apart. That would be a terrible idea.

 

Instead, she lets him take her upstairs, passing her own rooms and entering his. He is rough as he tugs off her boot. “I can’t believe I’m giving you my bed. You’ve got a perfectly good bed in your own room, with a girl in it who would kill or die for you. The fact that she’s a woman shouldn’t matter, Miranda,” Nigel says pointedly, looking her in the eye. “You run a brothel. Are you really so concerned with morality? Think you’ll get struck down by the almighty?”

 

Miranda just stares at him.

 

“I didn’t think so.” He wrestles with her other boot. “If you suppose you’re the first person under this roof to fuck someone of the same gender, you’re a fool.”

 

Miranda knows he’s right; she’s heard of some of the girls sleeping together. And of course she has her suspicions about Nigel. But Miranda never wanted it herself before now. And despite her best attempts, she does still want Andy. Very much.

 

Nigel rolls his eyes. “Forget it. Go to sleep. You won’t remember any of this anyway.” Shoving her down on the bed, Nigel tosses her legs up on the mattress and covers her. “I’m taking tomorrow off, by the way. It will be Christmas Eve and I suggest you close up shop. Get it?”

 

Miranda considers the notion, and nods faintly.

 

“Good. Don’t throw up in my bed.” He puts a pail next to the mattress and strides out, shutting the door none too quietly.

 

Miranda’s stomach rolls, and she prays for oblivion.

 

\---

 

When Miranda opens her eyes, she expects to feel like death warmed over. To her utter relief, she only has a headache rather than any more serious symptoms. Apparently being sick the night before did her a favor. Her sleep was restless from the liquor, and she is still exhausted. She lies in bed and snuggles under the blankets until she remembers where she is.

 

This is Nigel’s bed, and Andy’s in her bed, suffering through no fault of her own. Miranda is at once frightened that she’s been alone all this time, afraid, or hungry or thirsty. She rolls out of the bed, wincing at the throb in her head, but determined to make sure Andy’s all right. Throwing her shoulders back, she leaves Nigel’s room. A few of the girls are milling around downstairs, but if any of them hear her footsteps, they ignore her. It’s a good thing too. Miranda is in no mood.

 

Once in front of her door, she considers knocking only for a second before turning the knob and striding in.

 

The scene that greets her is a surprise, but it shouldn’t be. Andy is propped up against three pillows, still wearing her white shift and long underwear, and Nigel sits cross-legged across from her on the bed.

 

There is a pile of poker chips in the middle of the coverlet.

 

Nigel has the sense to look guilty, but Andy only smiles brightly at her, gripping her cards. “Hey,” she says, a little hesitant. “You okay? Nigel said you got tight last night.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Miranda says, briefly giving Nigel her most aggravated expression. To Andrea, she says, “You seem to be feeling all right, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Andy grins again, and Miranda feels short of breath. “Right as rain. Nigel made me some soup last night, and I had toast and tea this morning. I’ve still got a cough but I’ll be fine. Right, Nigel?” She glances at him expectantly.

 

He looks at her with affection, and Miranda wonders what they’ve been talking about. She doubts she’ll ever find out. “You’re peachy, Andy. I’m not so sure about you, Miranda. There’s some willow bark tea downstairs if you need it.”

 

 _Oh, thank God_ , she thinks silently. “Perhaps,” she says aloud and immediately turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen.

 

A half an hour later, Miranda has had tea and toast, like Andy, and she feels dramatically better. The girls flutter around her, teasing and joking with one another. For a moment, Miranda tries to imagine Andy spending time here with them.

  
It’s not so difficult.

 

She spends a little while taking care of some business in the back office, calculating her take for the week, separating out enough to pay month’s expenses. She keeps extra money to give all the girls a Christmas bonus; they all deserve it. They deserve better than this life, but it’s what they chose. Every girl here came to Miranda for work. Because of that, they submit to her rules, and give her the respect she demands. It makes for a generally smooth operation.

 

Of course, Miranda has never caused a scene in her own establishment before last night, and no man has ever made a pass at her in public. It won’t happen again. Miranda will see to it.

 

After another hour, Miranda decides she’s avoided Andy long enough.  Upstairs, she finds Andy sleeping, curled up in a pile of cotton and down. It looks unbearably comfortable and warm, and it takes all of Miranda’s effort to resist climbing in next to her.

 

Instead she washes up and changes clothes. She immediately feels more human, able to resist temptation, until she turns around to find the girl staring at her.

 

“Hi,” Andy says, her voice rough. “I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you were here next to me. You held me, and for the first time in forever, I was safe.”

 

Just like that, all of Miranda’s carefully constructed defenses are dismantled. Resistance no longer seems logical, much less an option. Apparently she is in love. She wants to stamp her foot on the ground, but the time for childish behavior is over.

 

“You are safe,” Miranda tells her, drying her hands on a clean towel. “You’re safe with me.” With that, she crosses the room and does what her heart tells her to do, and gets into the bed. Andy turns over and pulls Miranda close, nuzzling Miranda’s neck in a way that sends chills down her back.

 

“Don’t send me away,” Andy pleads.

 

“I won’t,” Miranda replies, and closes her eyes. In minutes, she is asleep.

 

\---

  



	4. Chapter 4

 

 

\---

 

The sun in her eyes finally awakens Miranda; it streams through the open curtain and illuminates the room with a lovely glow. She feels rested and warm, although her right arm is numb. She flexes her fingers and notices the weight of a head pillowed on her shoulder.

 

Andy looks up at her, smile at the ready. “Morning. Or afternoon, rather. It’s past 2.”

 

“My,” Miranda says, unnerved at Andy’s proximity but trying to hide it.

 

“Sleep okay?” Andy asks.

 

Miranda pauses, and answers, “Yes. Yes, I did.”

 

“Me too,” Andy says, stroking down Miranda’s ribcage with a delicate hand. “Your bed is comfortable. So are you.”

 

Before Miranda can allow herself to get even more self-conscious, she asks, “You’re awfully brazen considering our… situation.”

 

Andy grins. “This is more than I ever expected, Miranda. You—this—it’s beyond everything.” Her cheeks go decidedly pink as she brushes the underside of Miranda’s breast. “If this is all I can have, I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.”

 

Frowning, Miranda asks, “What makes you say that?”

 

Andy looks surprised. “I don’t know. This ‘situation’ as you call it, is pretty unusual. I plan on keeping my life the same for the most part, being a miner, dressing and living as a man. But I want to be with you too. Heck, I’d marry you if I thought I could get away with it.”

 

Miranda’s cheeks are suddenly aflame, and Andy’s face turns red moments later.

 

“Oh, jeepers, sorry I said that,” Andy adds. “It just slipped out.”

 

“You barely know me,” Miranda whispers. “You have no idea who I am. You couldn’t possibly feel that way about me.” She doesn’t add the word _yet_.

 

“What’s to know? Two people see each other, and they like each other maybe, and spend a little time together, court a while and get married. We sorta went out of order, but I know I’d take the chance on you. If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m crazy for you, Miranda. Head over heels.”

 

“It’s infatuation,” Miranda states firmly.

 

Rolling her eyes, Andy laughs. “Sure it is. And you’ll probably be kind of annoying once I get to know you better, but I’m easy-going. This life feels like a cake-walk compared to, well, a lot of things.” She looks seriously into Miranda’s eyes, and Miranda doesn’t want to think about those ‘things.’ She doesn’t want to imagine how badly Andy’s been hurt, how she still suffers.

 

After a moment, Miranda looks down. “You haven’t seen me at my worst,” she says, thinking about the dark moods that come upon her on occasion. While infrequent, Miranda can’t help but feel ashamed that she can’t always control her temperament.

 

“But I’ve seen you at your best, and I can remember that till the storm passes,” Andy says earnestly.

 

With a frown, Miranda asks, “When on earth have you seen me at my best?”

 

Andy’s mouth goes slack, and her eyes go out of focus. “Uh, well, it was right here, in this bed. And my head was between your legs—“

 

“Oh,” Miranda says sharply, and after a moment, she can’t help but chuckle. “I suppose that was rather a good moment. Perhaps not my best, though.”

 

“Well I’ll look forward to something even better then,” Andy says suggestively, trailing her fingertips over Miranda’s hip. And Miranda would likely have taken advantage of the opportunity had Andy’s stomach not chosen to speak up in hunger right then. 

 

Instead, she helps Andy redress, wrapping her torso tightly in the cotton bindings. It’s sad to see her beautiful skin disappear. She musses Andy’s hair and puts her hat on her head once her shirt and pants are all fastened. They venture down into the kitchen, and only a few of the girls are present. But as soon as Andy sits at the kitchen table, the trickle begins. By the time Miranda is halfway through frying the bacon and scrambling the eggs, the room is full of women who seem fascinated by Andy.

 

Including Emily.

 

Miranda’s hackles go up as her best girl starts to circle like a shark in the water. When a hand reaches out to touch Andy’s shoulder, Miranda says very quietly, “Emily.”

 

Her tone is so soft, so menacing, that the whole room looks up at her in silent panic. Emily’s eyes are wide. “Yes?” she asks. A small tremor in her voice is the single expression of her anxiety.

 

“Don’t,” Miranda says in that same tone. There is a threat in the word, one that Emily reads adeptly. The hand hovers, and the room is still, holding its collective breath.

 

“Oh. Well,” Emily says, and the hand retreats, brushing an invisible piece of lint from her dress. She clears her throat, uncomfortable, until Miranda turns back to the crackling pan.

 

“Um, where’d you say you were from Evie?” Andy asks, and the room heaves a sigh. The gentle chatter returns, and Miranda allows herself a tiny smile. Line drawn. No one will bother Andy now.

 

When their very late breakfast is ready, Miranda serves Andy, and she removes her hat. Multiple sets of eyes pop when her hair does that adorable flop onto her forehead. A half dozen girls coo, and Miranda tries very hard not to erupt in laughter.

 

\---

 

Andy’s color has returned to normal by the time she finishes her meal. They share a pot of willow bark tea, and while both of them grimace as they drink, they finish their cups. It’s bitter, and it cures the last vestiges of Miranda’s headache. Andy’s shallow cough hasn’t gone away, but Miranda isn’t overly-concerned.

 

Nigel comes in the back door not long afterwards, brushing fresh powder from his shoulders. “Looks like you didn’t miss work, Andy. I heard the mines are shut till the storm passes. Good timing.”

 

Andy nods. “Thanks, Nigel. Maybe if you’re around later we can finish up our poker game?” she asks hopefully.

 

Eyebrow raised, he glances at Miranda. “If you like,” he replies lightly. Miranda knows what he’s thinking. For a change, he’s right. If Andy is well enough, Miranda is going to bring her back to her rooms, and they are going to spend the rest of Christmas Eve making love. Miranda is already wet, anticipating unwrapping Andy like a present. She will get used to the idea of adoring a woman’s body; she can tell it won’t take very long. Already her mouth waters at the thought of kissing Andy’s breasts, her thighs, the inside of her arm, the small of her back. All that smooth skin, hers for the taking, thrills Miranda deeply.

 

“You look tired, Andy,” Miranda finally says, standing and depositing the dishes in the sink for someone else to look after. “I think you should rest.”

 

Andy looks distraught. “But I feel fine,” she whines.

 

“No no,” Miranda says decisively. “Come along. We don’t want you relapsing now after all your good progress.”

 

Andy’s lips curl adorably, but she follows Miranda through the rooms to the stairs and up. “I want to spend time with you. I don’t need more sleep,” she mutters as Miranda unlocks the door.

 

Once inside, Miranda shuts the door quickly and locks it, leaving the key next to the bed. “Who said anything about sleep?”

 

Understanding blooms in Andy’s face, transforming its sullen expression to one of pure excitement. “Are you sure?”

 

Miranda rolls her eyes. “Yes. Now come here.”

 

Andy is not exactly timid as she steps close, but there is an uncertainty that was absent the last time. Her hands tremble but don’t move to touch. Miranda will have to begin, so she does, kissing her for the first time in days.

 

Andy grabs the back of her head, and the wildcat returns. She growls as she pulls at Miranda’s dress, breathing heavily through her nose. Deft hands tackle the buttons that travel all the way down her spine, and in moment’s she’s in her underclothes. The corset only holds Andy up briefly as she unlaces it, and they finally break apart as she tears the thing from Miranda’s body. There is still another layer of silk beneath it, but that doesn’t stop Andy as she attacks Miranda’s breasts.

 

At some point Andy maneuvers them to the bed and pushes Miranda onto it, climbing up to hover over her on all fours. It’s almost shocking to see Andy strong after being so weak and ill, but apparently arousal brings out the best in her. Miranda wants to see her too, and after some prodding, convinces Andy to remove her clothes.

 

“Where’s my, um, thing?” Andy asks, motioning between her legs.

 

Miranda feels a bolt of lust shoot through her. “In the drawer,” she replies, pointing.

 

“I’m going to use it, if you want me to,” Andy says slowly. “But only if you want. I don’t care. I want to make you happy… Happier than anyone you’ve ever known. I’m as good as any man, Miranda. I’ll prove it to you.”

 

Miranda doesn’t need proof, but she’ll take it. “All right,” she replies, breathless. In an instant Andy yanks the drawer open and removes the curious appendage. Miranda bites her lip. “Where—“ she begins, surprised to find herself tongue-tied—“where did you get it?”

 

Andy looks up slyly. “I made it. This one’s my third try. The first two were kind of the wrong shape, and size too. This one’s my best effort.” She blushes as she slides it into the leather straps that sit low on her waist. “It’s lacquered so it won’t hurt you. Splinters, I mean.”

 

Miranda is drawn to it; she wants to reach out and pull it toward her, and Andy along with it. She doesn’t have to though. Andy stalks forward, holding the thing up with one hand, caressing its oddly-placed ridges in an offhanded gesture. She’s an incredible specimen of female beauty, but Miranda is strangely aroused by her extra appendage as well. “Not yet though,” Andy says. “I want to do this first.” Without preamble, Andy leans down between Miranda’s legs. She noses around and laps, seeming to delight in the flood she’s met with. Miranda inhales, biting her lip. Soon Andy kneels by the bed and kisses with an open mouth, rolling her tongue around tender flesh.

 

Miranda revels in the pleasure, arching her back when Andy circles the tiny bud near the top of her entrance. As she nears a climax already, she tugs on Andy’s head. “I’m close,” she whimpers. “Don’t you want to—“

 

But instead of stopping, Andy uses her hands, pushing inside with two fingers. Miranda tries to hold back, wanting to make it last longer. She will need time to recover before Andy fucks her, won’t she? A third finger joins the first two and Miranda feels the stretch as they reach and twist. Then all of Miranda’s attention is back on Andy’s tongue as it flits and flickers like a hummingbird’s wings, and Miranda can’t hold back with a wailing cry of release. She is almost disappointed at how good it feels, how easy it is for her to come at Andy’s will.

 

She wonders what Andy will do now. Looking down between her legs, Andy seems in no hurry, her eyes shut tight as she licks at Miranda’s damp thigh. “I didn’t know it would be this good,” Andy murmurs. “I didn’t know anything could be so good.”

 

Miranda can hardly draw breath to reply, especially when Andy stands, her breasts so perfectly shaped and lovely in the lamplight. The nipples are drawn tight and Miranda wants to kiss them, touch them, to do _something_ , but Andy grabs a pillow and tucks it under Miranda’s hips before she can. “Better for the angle, I think,” Andy says sagely, before taking the cock in hand and resting it against Miranda’s opening.

 

Miranda jerks; the sensation is intense after her orgasm. The wood is cold against her burning skin too, but somehow Miranda wants to open her legs wider, to welcome Andy’s body against hers. She does, and Andy holds still before maneuvering the phallus inside her. She goes so slowly that Miranda can hardly bear it. “God,” she says to the ceiling, “Oh, god.”

 

“Am I hurting you?” Andy says, concerned.

 

“No,” Miranda groans, stunned at the fact that she wants to move her hips again. Andy leans forward, sliding in deep until she grasps Miranda’s hips and pulls their bodies flush.

 

When Miranda opens her eyes, she finds Andy staring down at her, shivering. Her face is a mask of desire, and Miranda senses that she wants to move. Nodding, Miranda says, “Do it.”

 

So Andy does, falling forward with her hands on either side of Miranda. Her hips start a steady cadence of thrusts. Miranda wants to tell her that the ridges carved into the phallus are wonderful, because they hit her right at her opening. Instead she grabs at the covers and holds on.

 

Andy’s eyes are filled with wonder, and her forehead crinkles as she makes an animal sound. She seems astonished at the way their bodies move so well together, and Miranda feels the same. “Faster,” Miranda says, and she barely recognizes her own voice. Andy acquiesces, grunting with exertion. While she’s distracted by her own efforts, Miranda reaches down between them, searching for Andy’s little pearl with the backs of her fingers. When she makes contact, Andy yelps and shoves, losing her pace. She rubs against Miranda’s hand, the movement raking the ridges inside Miranda in exactly the way she wants. It fires her up, the warmth in her head flaring into an inferno. Andy rubs harder, her body undulating, and Miranda barely registers her second climax coming so fast she can’t stop it. When it happens it’s a surprise to both of them, and right away Andy’s eyes pop open and she bucks up and down a few more times. She grits her teeth and comes in silence, the muscles in her neck extending in ecstasy.

 

They both pant furiously in the aftermath, until Andy slumps down onto her elbows. Her body is slick with sweat, and Miranda hopes she hasn’t exhausted herself to the point of relapse. Soft lips travel along Miranda’s sternum, meandering to her breast. Miranda finally gathers the strength to wrap her arms and legs around Andy.

 

“Miranda,” Andy exhales. “Miranda.”

 

“You sure you haven’t done this before?” Miranda wheezes.

 

Trying to catch her breath, Andy replies, “Not to anybody else. I tried it on myself. That’s why it’s carved the way it is.”

 

The image of Andy fucking herself with the thing currently inside her sends a strong aftershock through Miranda. Within moments, the notion of wearing a cock and having her way with a woman seems not only possible but probable. Not to mention thrilling.

 

From the look on her face, Andy can easily read the thoughts racing through Miranda’s mind. She laughs, and the sound is wicked.

 

\---

 

When Miranda opens her eyes, it’s dark. Her sleep rhythm has been completely thrown off by the schedule she’s kept over the past few days. Not that she has any complaints. She spent hours making love to Andy that afternoon, then a few more challenging her at poker. They are both stellar players, but Miranda came out on top in more ways than one.

 

She has no idea what time it is, or if it’s still Christmas Eve. Either way, she is grateful for her unexpected gift. Andy lies in her arms, her short dark hair soft as feathers against Miranda’s shoulder. Although it’s hot beneath the covers and Miranda wants some fresh air, she is reluctant to move. But her gradual change in position draws Andy awake, and she lifts her head from the pillow.

 

“Miranda?” she asks, voice girlish and sweet.

 

At once Miranda wonders that she ever mistook the woman for a man. Gazing at her gamine eyes and heart-shaped mouth, it’s incredible she’s been able to pass for so many years. But then again, she is a gorgeous combination of masculine and feminine. As she explored Andy’s body earlier, she learned the powerful strength of her arms and back and legs. Miranda knows Andy is all muscle because she’s touched every inch of her body by now. She is particularly fond of the long curve that extends from her ass down the back of her thigh. For a recently deflowered virgin, Andy doesn’t seem skittish about anything Miranda’s done to her. Then again, Miranda has asked permission each time. Even when she bent to taste Andy, she asked if it was all right. That made Andy breathless. “Can I?” Miranda had asked, and Andy nearly yanked Miranda’s hair out begging for it.

 

“Miranda? Are you awake?” Andy questions once more, and Miranda comes back to herself.

 

“Yes, I’m up,” she says, hoping to hide the arousal that surfaces in her voice.

 

There’s a slight pause. “Oh,” Andy says, and shifts to move her legs away from Miranda’s. It takes a moment, and they both chuckle at the stickiness left on their skin. Andy kisses Miranda’s shoulder once, then again. “You taste good,” she mumbles, and the touch sends a tingle through Miranda even though she’s sore and exhausted.

 

“I do?” she asks, turning on her side and finding the sleek line of hip and waist that leads to a breast. It fits perfectly in her palm.

 

“Yes.”

 

So they start anew, because why not? Miranda isn’t afraid of her desire. She slides her hand down and finds Andy already wet; whether it’s from before or now barely matters. She is very, very gentle, kissing breasts that are already familiar, sliding along the thigh that insinuates itself between her legs. It’s slow and easy this time, and Andy goes off first with a whimpering sigh. Miranda follows her a minute or so later, the long leg at her center flexing powerfully as she shudders against it.

 

She’s taken to sex with a woman rather quickly. But to the outside world, she’ll have taken up with a young, vital and handsome man. What’s the difference really, between handsome and pretty? The face that looks back at her with affection is so beautiful it makes Miranda’s heart race, whereas only days before, she’d have called it handsome. It’s a curious question. Perhaps she’ll think on it later. When she’s less distracted.

 

Now, she nuzzles at Andy’s cool neck and exhales. She’s hungry, and she expects Andy is too. With a chill in the air, she and Andy dress quickly, and before they leave, Miranda throws another log into the stove to warm the room.

 

It’s deserted downstairs; apparently everyone found other plans. But there is fresh bread in the box, probably baked for Christmas morning. Andy slices into it as Miranda pours two glasses of red wine. She gathers some dried fruits and cheese as well, and before long they have an impromptu feast set up at one of the poker tables in the main room. A few lamps cast a gentle glow on Andy’s pale skin, and Miranda feels that funny throb in her heart again. It tells her she’s chosen well.

 

Andy seems tired, and Miranda reminds herself that she needs more time to recover. But before Miranda can shuffle her off upstairs for sleep, and who knows what else, Andy stops at the Christmas tree. The moon is still high, and the tinsel reflects its light on the wall nearby.

 

Andy leans her face into the tree and inhales deeply. “It smells wonderful.”

 

Miranda nods in agreement.

 

“I guess you could say this is my first Christmas,” Andy adds.

 

With a laugh, Miranda asks, “What are you talking about?”

 

Shyly, Andy shrugs. “I’m Jewish.” She doesn’t turn to watch how Miranda reacts to the news.

 

“Oh.” Miranda wraps her arms around Andy’s waist and pulls her close. Her lips just reach the top of her spine, and she kisses it. “That’s nice.” Andy giggles nervously, and seems to slump in relief. “I don’t typically celebrate Christmas. But I may start.”

 

Andy’s hands cover her forearms, rubbing softly. “I don’t have a present for you.” Her voice is far too sad for Miranda’s liking.

 

“That’s all right,” Miranda tells her. “We can exchange gifts next year.” As she says this, the hair on the back of her neck lifts. She is electrified by the implication of her words.

 

So is Andy. She trembles in Miranda’s embrace, gripping her arms tightly. “Next year,” she whispers. “That sounds good.”  
  
~end

 


End file.
